


Too Hot (Hot Damn)

by wtvoc



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Smut, alternate universe heatwave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 00:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4201716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtvoc/pseuds/wtvoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma just doesn’t know what’s hotter--the weather and the fact that the air conditioning is out in her building, or her neighbor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Hot (Hot Damn)

**Too Hot (Hot Damn)**

As Emma slammed her car door, she knew it. She knew her aggravating day was just going to get worse the minute she let herself into her apartment, and still. She hoped. 

Walking into the front entrance of her building was as expected—stuffy and humid, even on nice days. But on sweltering days like this where there were warnings of extreme heat and not locking kids and dogs inside cars, it was the worst—that stale Berber carpet smell a little stronger than usual, the air oppressive and gross. She stomped up the stairs and made her way down the hall of the third floor, dreading going into her apartment despite all the promises made by the super. 

Emma _knew_ it was stupid to hope. 

The moment she unlocked her door, she was met with a blast of heat. 

“Fuck,” she groan-sobbed. She left the door open to try and let out some of the hotter air filling her apartment, dropping her purse and keys on the side table and just standing there, hands on her hips, trying to figure out what to do. Her eyes darted over to the fridge and she contemplated just sticking her head in it, but that wouldn't work. It hadn't worked the night before, and it wouldn't work now. 

Leroy. He said he'd fix this. 

She fished her phone out of her pocket and started stabbing at the screen with her finger, muttering curses and threats until she got to _recent calls_ — _LEROY_ \--little phone icon. 

He didn't answer. He was probably tired of fielding calls from increasingly angry tenants about fixing the fucking air conditioning, and even more tired of the annoyed bounty hunter in 3D being on his case. 

“Ugh,” she muttered in disgust, tossing her phone on the counter as she stomped over to the kitchen. She whipped open the fridge door and started unbuttoning her pants, no longer caring. She shoved them down to her knees and then started angrily kicking out of her boots, straightening and fishing under the back of her shirt to unhook her bra. 

Emma stood there, letting small little licks of cold touch her skin as she whipped her bra off angrily from under her manbeater. After about ninety seconds she was finished, pressing her forehead right next to the Post-It that screamed DON'T FORGET TO FEED THE DOG on the freezer door and bracing her arms on the sides of the open fridge, leaning her hips into the cool. She flipped around and practically sat in the thing, not even caring that she was just standing there in a thin white tank and lilac-colored underwear. It was her own apartment; she'd do what she wanted, dammit. 

Her refrigerator started to make a whirring sound. 

No. No, no, no. 

She knew she should've gotten the extended service warranty. 

The light went out behind her. 

“I don't fucking _believe_ this.” 

She stood there, closing her eyes and hoping against hope that it would come back on because really, what're the odds that on the third day of the AC being out in her building that her fridge would die, too? 

Pretty good, as it turns out. 

Emma kept standing there, thinking nothing, absorbing the last few bits of cold on her skin, but eventually they started to fade until all she was left with was the smell of four-day-old chow mein, the only thing in her fridge that wasn't condiments or old beer. 

Her eyes popped open. 

Fucking Leroy was about to get a piece of her mind. Again. 

Without thought, she took a step forward and slammed the fridge door behind her. Her eyes narrowed, and she fixated on the front door she'd left open. 

Before she knew it, she was stomping down the hall and down the stairs, muttering under her breath. If Leroy had a problem with 3D yelling at him while in her socks and underwear, then too fucking bad. 

“Leroy!” 

Emma banged on the door marked _1A_ with both fists. “I know you're in there! Come out and face me like a man, you bearded promise-breaker! Leroy!” 

If he was inside, he was doing a great job of not answering her summons. Emma felt defeated--hot and defeated. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the door, pulling away quickly because the surface was even hotter than the air in the hallway. 

“At least you don't have AC, either,” she muttered, ready to make her way back upstairs and-- 

Her annoyed thoughts were interrupted by a chuckle coming from behind her. 

“Crap,” she whispered, knowing that it wasn't the laugh of the short man who ran the building. _Please, don't let it be-_ \- 

She turned around. Of course it was. 

3B, AKA Killian Jones. She only knew his name because she occasionally got some of his mail—always some hand-addressed letter in a heavy envelope that was stamped _Par Avion Royal Mail, England,_ from a Cpt. L. Jones. It seemed that Captain Jones' florid cursive confused their mail carrier because she got those lovely, thick envelopes every few months or so. She always just stuffed them under his door, wondering if L. Jones was a relative, whether Killian 3B Hot Neighbor Jones was also from England, whether he was here permanently. Wondering all sorts of things about him. They'd seen each other in passing, he always nodding a smile at her when she was on her way in or out of the building, occasionally holding the door open for her or she for him, and even one time running after her umbrella when the wind had blown it right out of her hand. In the beginning she wondered if they'd met before because there was just something about him that made her look twice, but after a few weeks of pondering she decided that it wasn't possible, that she'd remember someone who looked like that. Somehow they'd never spoken, probably because she knew the cardinal rule of living on your own: you don't shit where you eat, and you don't fuck the hot person who lives two doors down. You just lust after him. 

“Leroy has been incommunicado all day, love,” he said, and it was already hot, but damn if she thought she was going to melt into the floor. He was definitely from England, his accented voice low and inviting. 

“Oh,” she said, for lack of anything better (and to prevent herself from saying something really dumb like, “Wanna make out?”). She took a big, indecisive breath, and that's when it hit her. She was barely dressed. In front of the hot English neighbor. In a thin white shirt, no less. His eyes had darted down at her indrawn breath and it's not like she could blame the guy, her tits _were_ right there. 

She was going to cross her arms over her chest, but it was too hot. She decided to just say fuck it, if the hot neighbor couldn't deal with nipples, then that wasn't her business. 

“Uh,” she began, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and trying not to feel too self-conscious that her ass was hanging out and thanking any gods listening that she was freshly shaven. If you're going to embarrass yourself, might as well look good doing it, right? “Do you know if there's any progress on the whole Operation Dante's Inferno situation?” 

He grinned broadly at that and she was glad, because he looked so handsome when he did that it sent an actual shiver down her spine. Who was this guy, with his eyes and his scruff and his sideburns? 

“The Lit Major nerd in me appreciates the reference, 3D,” he said, his teasing voice making her reciprocate his smile, albeit halfway. 

“It's Emma.” 

“Emma, then. Killian.” 

“I know. I get your mail.” 

“Ah,” he said with a tilt of his head. “You're the one who receives my brother's letters, then. I must thank you for returning them; I'm afraid I would be adrift without his constant reminders of how lovely and rainy it is back home.” 

The conversation seemed to stall there and they found themselves staring at each other, but it wasn't an awkward silence, more like an assessing one. A _swelteringly hot_ assessing one. Emma became aware as she stood there that there was a trickle of sweat running down her neck and heading for the area between her boobs and that her back was also sweaty. The slide and wet tickle on her skin was starting to piss her off. 

“Okay, that's _it_.” 

“Wha?” he said, his brows drawing together in confusion. She grinned; maybe the heat had finally gotten to her, or maybe she was losing too many electrolytes from dehydration or whatever. But she suddenly got what seemed like the greatest idea in the world, and she couldn't just leave this poor, homely English boy here while she went and got some relief, right? That would be rude. 

“Come on,” she said, stepping forward and grabbing his arm as she went. He went without questioning, which maybe should have worried her because they were, after all, strangers, but maybe it was for him as it was for her—she just trusted this guy. She didn't know what it was—ever since that day two years ago when she'd seen him moving in down the hall and had wanted to offer help moving boxes or putting stuff away or fellatio, she'd known that he wasn't a bad guy. She had a sense for these things. In the past, she'd purposely gone after the ones who set her internal person-meter screaming, but she was too old for that crap now. She was too busy and too tired to go looking, preferring the instant relief of a quick screw in a bar bathroom or a quickie at some guy's apartment, but she had yet to go after a guy who didn't make her mind tell her _not this one_. 

3B here never set that alarm off. He set off all kinds of other alarms in her body, but that was different. Maybe that was why she'd never approached him, merely settling for those soft smiles in the hall and letting him white knight her umbrella in the rain, but now? Now, she suddenly didn't give a crap about staying away. It was too damned hot. 

“Where're we going, 3D?” He was huffing behind her and his arm was warm and sticky underneath her hand, but she really didn't care. She just kept stomping up the stairs to the third floor, still holding onto him, not wanting to give him the chance to chicken out, even though she sensed he'd follow her anywhere in that moment. 

As they approached his door she stopped and turned, his body nearly colliding into hers, it was so abrupt. 

“Get your keys. And a towel.” 

He raised his brow at that, opening his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. 

“Just....trust me, 3B. Be at my door in five.” 

Before she could talk herself out of it, she turned and walked away. She'd left her door open, which was monumentally stupid, but hey. Emma seemed to be into making all sorts of questionable decisions today. She could blame it on the heat. 

She rushed over to her kitchen and stepped into her previously shucked jeans, practically yanking them over her hips. She peeled her socks off and turned to scan the floor, her gaze landing on an old pair of beat-up checkered Vans kicked off under her entryway table. Swiping her phone off the counter, she walked over and stepped into the sneakers, grabbing her keys and bag from the table and briefly checking herself out in the mirror she had by the door. No makeup to melt on her face, ponytail in need of adjustment. She straightened her hair quickly, took a deep breath, and stepped back out into the hallway. 

_I'm doing this._

For one second she hesitated, wondering if it was such a good idea to drag a relative stranger into her life, but when she stepped from the oppressive heat of her apartment into the _stale_ oppressive heat of the building hallway, her mind was made up. She turned to lock her door, kind of wishing 3B wouldn't show and desperately praying that he would. 

When she heard a soft “ahem” to her right she turned, a huge grin on her face. She couldn't help it; 3B showed, _he totally showed,_ and he had a red-and-white striped towel slung over his shoulder. 

“All right, love. I trust you. Now what?” 

His solemn tone was in direct contradiction to the twinkle in his eyes, but she decided to ignore that, because if she started staring at him like she wanted to, they'd both expire in a pool of horny sweat in their hallway. So, she turned back to her door and stuck her key in the knob, locking it with a decisive click and turning herself to face him. 

“Follow me.” 

She realized she was having fun as she rushed down the two flights of stairs to the ground floor, knowing he was behind her and playing along. They were two adults who didn't know each other despite living in close proximity (and despite beaming lusty looks at each other) for the last two years, and here they were, acting like stupid teenagers. 

Emma couldn't think of a better way to beat the heat. 

When they reached her Bug she got in, hissing and wincing in agony at the hot vinyl seats touching the backs of her bare arms. She leaned over and popped the lock on the passenger side, her eyes caught by his long and lean leg stepping into her car. 

_All right, Swan. Focus. You have to drive._

She started the car and laughed at the expression on his face as a blast of hot, old car air hit them in the faces. 

“Sorry,” she said, trying to stifle her laughter. “She's an old lady, so be nice to her.” 

“Wouldn't dream of anything else, love,” he said, grinning at her and reaching down to start unrolling the window. Emma did the same as she grabbed her seat belt with her other hand, trying to ignore the hot metal buckle searing at her skin. She felt a sense of lightness and frivolity (or maybe delirium) settle over her when she turned the engine over, revving a few times for fun before shifting the car into gear. He seemed to be similarly affected, his lopsided smile so big it lit his entire face in an expression she could only describe as _merry_. 

“So, you're not going to serial kill me, are you?” he asked in a light tone after the first couple minutes of driving. His accented, teasing words were only slightly louder than the steady rumble of her engine and Martha Reeves and the Vandellas scratching out from the Bug's one still-functioning speaker. Emma grinned, glancing at him from the sides of her eyes but not responding. Much more fun that way. 

It only took a couple of minutes to turn from the one busy road in all of Storybrooke and into a tract home neighborhood, the kind built back in the fifties that was picture-perfect and cookie cutter, reminding her an awful lot of the movie _Edward Scissorhands_. It was that slice of heaven that she'd always dreamed about—the boring American Dream that an orphan kid would have sold her soul for to experience for more than a couple weeks' at a time. She'd eventually found that slice of the dream, but only by glomming off the only friend who'd kept contact with her after she'd been shipped back to a children's home when she was a kid. Her oldest (only) friend was stubborn like that, insisting that a stupid thing like distance shouldn't keep people away from each other. When Emma had scoffed and informed the pixie-headed then-fourteen-year-old that BFFs weren't a real thing, it only seemed to make the fiercely loyal Mary Margaret Blanchard that much more determined to keep tabs on Emma until one day when she stopped sending her stubborn and daily emails. That made Emma run away again, skritching on the back of an old pick-up on a busted skateboard to Union Station and mooching for change for the bus until she made her way back to Storybrooke, a fifteen-year-old girl banging on the door of her friend's house to demand what had happened. When Mary Margaret's grinning face appeared at the door, Emma nearly punched it. 

“What the hell, Mary Margaret? I thought you'd died or gotten sick or something.” 

“Oh, so you noticed I was gone?” 

“Shut up. I was worried.” 

“Grounded for sneaking out to see David.” 

“Oh, him.” 

“Yeah, him.” 

Emma had crashed at the Blanchard house that night and for the next three after, giggling with the friend she'd finally given into over boys (“David Nolan is way too preachy to be hot,” Emma declared to an offended Mary Margaret), their fears, Mary Margaret wondering whether true love was a thing, Emma quietly talking about some of the really bad families she'd stayed with over the years and why she ran so much. They were pretty much a fixture in each other's lives after that night and had been for over a decade. 

“So, who're we robbing, then?” 

Killian's probing, mostly teasing voice interrupted her mental walk down Nostalgia Lane, and she cracked a grin, lifting her hand from the stick shift to swipe at some sweat running down the side of her face. 

“Old friends. I promised I'd keep their dog fed.” 

“Ah. So we finally, officially meet, but it's simply because you needed an errand boy?” 

She glanced at him as she palmed the steering wheel, pulling sharply into the Nolan driveway and stifling her laughter when the bouncing jolt of her Bug hitting the gutter made his head almost hit the roof of her car. 

“Sorry, 3B. I don't feel safe in neighborhoods like this, way too pure for me. I needed someone to keep me from turning boring and like, putting on an apron and baking an apple pie after opening up the kibble.” 

“And I strike you as protection from wholesome purity, do I?” he asked. The lightness was still there, but there was a new note to it, a hint of something promising, so she looked over at him, her eyebrows raised. Instead of retorting like her mind wanted to do, she simply lifted the corner of her mouth and smirked at him, her eyes meeting his somewhat burning blues. 

She stepped out of the car before she did something dumb like jump on him (way too hot for that), skipping over to the front door and taking a few breaths to calm down. It's not like she didn't know where this was all leading—they'd been kind of eye fucking each other for almost two years now—but still. Emma wasn't a total idiot. The heatwave may have been overriding her logic, but she was still in control. Mostly. 

There was a welcome blast of air conditioning once she got the door open and she stood there for a second, savoring the cool relief and not sparing one second of guilt over the fact that she was taking advantage of her friends being gone on their honeymoon by keeping their air running. Or by bringing a total stranger into their house. 

“Oh, God,” she heard behind her, an unholy moan escaping from her neighbor's throat as he stopped just behind her. “Sweet merciful lord, I'd forgotten what it was like to live in such splendor.” 

“Right?” she murmured, wholly conscious of the very hot and _very hot_ man standing terribly close to her, so close she could feel his heat at her back. She cleared her throat and shook her head to snap herself out of it, taking three steps forward and turning to face him once he'd also made it inside. He closed the door behind him and suddenly it was just the two of them standing in the dimly lit foyer of Mary Margaret's picture-perfect house, the darkened room set to exactly 67 degrees of blissful cold. 

“You know, 3D, you could serial kill me right now and I'd grin the entire time. Just don't bury me until you're sure I'm quite dead; I'd hate to spend my last moments out in that blasted heat.” She shook her head at him, utterly charmed and kind of annoyed that someone that good-looking was simultaneously that charming. 

“Honestly, thank you for bringing me here. After the week I've had, I'm afraid I was going to die if I had to spend one more moment in our apartment building. I was contemplating going to the grocery store just so I'd have the chance to remember what it was like not to melt.” 

“Oh, you haven't even seen the best part. Come on.” Emma realized she was being a little cryptic, but she figured he wouldn't complain too much. She kicked out of her Vans and started making her way through the house, assuming he'd follow her on her way to the sliding glass door in the back. 

“Oh, _yes_ ,” he murmured behind her as they stood there, looking at the backyard. It was Tuesday, which meant the pool just got cleaned. It looked so inviting to her, the faux-Mediterranean turquoise bottom reflecting and making the entire backyard look even brighter than the late afternoon sunshine. “I was hoping this was why I'd need a towel.” 

“I figured you'd assume I was inviting you to shower with me,” she said softly before reaching for the button of her pants. She asked herself as she slid the door open in nothing but her underwear and manbeater whether she'd done all of this on purpose or if it was just the heat getting to her, but as she tiptoed across the skin-scorching cement of the patio and quickly made her way over to the deep end of the pool on the far side of the backyard, she decided she just didn't give a fuck. Mary Margaret was always telling her to leave her hang-ups at the door every once in a while, so Emma figured her friend would have to appreciate that she was finally doing just that right there in Mary Margaret's (and David's, now) backyard. 

When she got to the other end of the kidney-shaped pool, she looked up and saw that Killian had stripped down to a pair of dark-colored boxers. He was standing under the slotted shade of the wooden patio cover and looking at her with an expression she couldn't quite figure out, mostly because she was standing in the bright sunshine and his face was cast in shadows. She fancied he was sending her one of the same heated glances they'd been throwing ever since that first time they'd seen each other, so she kept that eye contact as she raised her arms over her head, biting her lip a little and then jumping headfirst. If she was going to go off the deep end, literally, might as well do it right. Right? 

She actually moaned into the water after diving into it, the temperature so abruptly cold that it made her ears pop. She'd never felt anything so damned perfect in her entire life. 

Right before she surfaced, she could feel the forceful ripple as Killian dove in right after her. She opened her eyes, the hazy blur of blue and the muffled quiet bringing her a sense of contented peace. She kicked her way to the shallow end, standing and surfacing with a smile. She swiped her hands up her face and across her hair, turning to see where her neighbor had ended up. 

His head popped up a few feet away, his grin matching hers. They looked at each other for a few moments; for Emma's part, she really didn't know what to say. She'd done this a few times when she was a teenager—swimming in pools with boys, sometimes in a group, sometimes just her and a guy she knew she wouldn't see again once the system made her leave. It occurred to her then that this was the difference between then and now—Killian would still be there later and so would she, no matter what happened. It should have made her balk, the knowledge that if things went sideways (how could they not?) or even if nothing happened at all, he would still be around. Living two doors down. Holding the door open for her, rescuing her umbrellas. 

It should have made her hesitate, but it didn't. And for the first time in a long time, she was interested in seeing where it would all lead. 

With a surge of confidence and the grin that seemed to pop up more when around him than it had in a long time, Emma kicked forward, her arms sweeping out lazily in front of her, taking her in deeper and deeper. She heard splashing nearby and wondered if he was going to chase after her. She realized she wanted him to. 

She made her way to the edge of the pool at its deepest point, wrapping her arms around the hot edge and lifting herself briefly. She could feel the swish and sway of her shirt billowing around her under the water, and when she looked down, she almost gasped. Jesus. 

_A man's white undershirt, Emma. These things are supposed to be thin._ She may as well have been naked. She dropped down into the water and could feel heat blazing across her cheeks. Her impetuous behavior suddenly seemed....obvious. She hadn't meant to be like this. Had she? 

_Oh, who cares_ , she could hear Mary Margaret's crisp teacher voice telling her. _Live a little. Look at the guy._ So, Emma did. She turned around, kicking a little to stay in place but making sure her basically naked chest wasn't too visible from the surface. 

Killian was making his way to the deep end, not necessarily headed for her but looking right at her face. His eyes seemed a much brighter blue, probably because of the reflection from the pool, maybe because she was feeling so good in the crisp, cool water. For the first time in ages, she didn't feel weighed down by the oppressive heat or her damned job or anything, really. She was allowing herself to simply be, totally comfortable with this utter stranger who seemed strangely familiar and not at all strange to her. 

He grinned and started making his way over to her, his arms cutting through the water in clean, easy strokes. She watched his progress, biting back a grin, and when he got within two feet of her she gulped in a huge breath and dropped down, pushing off the side and surging forward, rocketing just beneath him. When she surfaced right in the middle she whipped around, unable to hold back her goofy grin. She realized that it had been years since she'd screwed around in a pool just for the sake of it—every time she'd come over, she and Mary Margaret had simply sat out in the sun baking themselves, only jumping into the water when the heat became unbearable. The few pool parties they'd thrown had always included booze, and Emma wisely kept to the shallow end, sipping on a Mai Tai and concentrating on not drowning. 

3B was still in the deep end, paddling himself in place and fixing her with a delighted smile. So, she did what any woman who suddenly feels like a teenager does—she whipped her arm behind her and sent a tidal wave splashing in his direction. Her aim was good, too; she got him full in the face. After sputtering and swiping the water from his eyes, he pursed his lips and frowned enough to make his mustache twitch; casting his eyes down, he nodded to himself a few times. When he looked back up at her and lifted the corner of his mouth, she bit her lip and crinkled her nose in anticipation because she could see it in his eyes—this was the moment they would go from strangers who lived next to each other to strangers who touched each other's bodies. 

With no more warning than a quirk in his eyebrow, he launched himself in her direction. 

Emma shrieked and made a half-hearted attempt to swim away, but who was she kidding? She wanted to get caught. Forgotten was her irritation with the heat, forgotten was her usual stance on guys she would be seeing again. Killian Jones was...well, she didn't know, exactly. But she was willing to find out. 

She kicked out and swooshed herself backward, still facing him to watch how he approached. He stopped just before reaching her, the wake of his movement washing over her face. She sputtered, bringing her hands up to wipe her face, and that's when he struck. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her toward his body, their knees bumping and swaying under the water. 

“That was bad form, love,” he murmured. His face was close; she could have counted the sporadic freckles on his nose, or the water droplets dotting his unfairly long eyelashes. Her eyes danced over his face, taking in the details—something she'd never done because they hadn't been this close to each before, close enough to kiss. 

“Yeah?” she said somewhat breathlessly, cracking an amused grin and cocking her own eyebrow. “Whaddya gonna do about it?” She was further amused when he got a somewhat dumbfounded expression on his face at that, his jaw slackening a little, his eyes glazing over as they darted down to that quirk in her mouth. 

Then he narrowed his eyes and a look of mischief took the place of mesmerization; she knew she was in trouble half a second after he started smirking. 

“This,” he murmured, and then started moving his fingers, digging into her shirt with the exact right amount of pressure above her hips to make her gasp. How the hell did he know she was so ticklish there? 

It became a very slippery wrestling match, with Emma trying her damnedest to not actually escape from him while still putting on the appearance of trying to do so. She could feel flutters of awareness dancing under her skin, those teasing little runs of nerves up and down her spine and her thighs every time he squeezed or brushed up against her making her breathe harder, faster; making her aware of him, of them. 

His hands were all over her, like he was trying to find _it_ , the one spot on everyone that's so ticklish it's almost painful. And she was trying in vain to find any spot on him that elicited any kind of reaction, but he seemed too determined to best her first, his expression intense, laughter bursting from his lips whenever she shrieked at a well-placed squeeze. Somewhere in the there, however, he got bolder and she let him (invited him), his hands slipping lower, his chest pressing closer to hers, his thighs swaying between her legs. Before she knew it, she found herself hooking her ankles under his thighs, one hand behind his neck and the other digging into his ribs, trying to get some sort of reaction from him. 

Well, there was one reaction she figured she was getting. 

Just as she was contemplating sliding her hips closer to his so she could test whether he was as aroused as she was, he came close to finding it- _-the_ spot. His hand was gripping the back of her thigh and as she wiggled her ass around, trying to dodge his other hand, she slipped and he moved his hand, his fingers accidentally dancing along the edge of her underwear, right where thigh meets ass. If he'd been squeezing, it wouldn't have tickled. If he'd gone in deeper, no. But his fingers found _the_ spot, just where her ass started to curve inward, and when they swept along her skin as she moved, she gasped and froze, looking right into the laughter of his sparkly blue eyes. 

He froze, too, like he was stopping himself in case he'd gone too far, but he seemed to realize the secret he'd stumbled upon, because before she could shift away from his hand, he flexed his fingers gently and she jolted, the ticklish sensation coupling with delicious, tickling arousal. He flexed again, a little harder this time and that did it, she rocked her hips—whether to get away from his hand or to move things along, she didn't know—and felt him hard beneath her. 

This time when they froze and looked at each other, it was an assessing, heated glance. Emma took a big breath, her eyes darting down to his lips, and she didn't know if she leaned toward him first or what, but suddenly his hand on her ass slid more inward and slightly under the edge of her underwear and he squeezed, and that did it. She gasped, the tickle not quite so intense but it didn't matter because her mouth was on his, finally, their lips cold but tongues warm as they slid against each other, he letting out this moan she could taste and she wrapping her other arm around his neck so she could ride him good and proper. 

She tightened her thighs around him and his other hand pressed between her shoulder blades; he angled his head to deepen their kiss and she returned it, grinding against him lightly and feeling a little frustrated because there's just no leverage in a pool. He must have felt the same because she felt his thighs start to move beneath her as he walked backward until she could feel herself bobbing more toward the surface. 

He broke away on a gasp, his water-dotted eyelashes blinking rapidly as he looked into her eyes. She was breathing hard, too, her lips chasing his as he pulled back slightly. They were right by the steps leading out, and she wondered how he'd feel about getting off right there in broad daylight. 

“Emma,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers. He took a couple more breaths before continuing, and his fingers squeezed her ass lightly before he spoke. “We don't even know each other.” 

“I know,” she said, unsurprised that she sounded as wrecked as he did. She bit her lip, bumping her nose against his until he looked up. It was really incredible how vulnerable he looked in that moment, and it made a thousand questions pour into her head, but she batted them away. “I've been wanting that to change for a while now.” 

“Yeah?” he grinned, looking like school just got out early for the day. “I wish I'd've known sooner.” He brushed his lips against hers but didn't press, speaking against her mouth with a low, dark murmur that vibrated all the way down to where the movement of the water was making her rock lightly against him (the water, _right_ ). “Forgive my assumption, love, but you seemed averse to my approach, so I sort of kept myself from making a move. Stupid Killian.” 

“No, you're right,” she breathed out, leaning forward to brush his lips with hers this time, to be the one to make _him_ vibrate. “I take time with these things sometimes.” She then parted her lips, leaning in to pull his bottom lip between her teeth slowly, silently thanking him for his patience and letting her make the first move. 

She bit down a little before releasing him which made his hips rock up against her; they both gasped, looking at each other a brief moment before coming together again. He kissed her like they'd kissed each other a thousand times before, like he already knew what she liked, at once intense and soft, savoring and tasting and testing. He squeezed his hands and pulled her closer, this time purposely grinding himself against her, making her feel his solid erection between her legs. 

She pulled away, arching her back and grinding down on him harder. One hand slipped down his neck as she kept grinding, her fingers curling, her nails raking down his shoulder until her palm came to rest right next to his heart. She straightened her elbow and tightened her thighs around him, continuing to grind, watching his face turn first disbelieving and then intense, focusing on her chest thrusting out toward him. 

“You know, love,” he grunted as she began swiveling her hips in circles, her head lazing backward, her hair starting to dip in the water behind her. “You may's well take this shirt off, for all that it's covering jack shit.” Emma had forgotten about the thing and just as she eased her limbs and neck enough to look down at it, he leaned forward and took one of her nipples in his mouth, his teeth scraping down and worrying the wet fabric back and forth. 

She closed her eyes and leaned back again to enjoy the sensation, but her hand on his neck slipped and she fell. He laughed, releasing her from his mouth as he caught her around the waist and pulled her back to him, her arms scrambling to wrap around his neck. They were nose-to-nose and she laughed, slightly embarrassed but more amused and highly aroused. 

“Fucking water,” she mumbled against his laughing mouth. He kissed her then, softly, brushing his lips against her three more times before tilting his head back to look her in the eye. 

“It's rather problematic,” he agreed. He shifted beneath her, his erection pressing against her before pulling away. “Perhaps we ought to consider a shift in location to somewhere less...wet.” Emma opened her mouth to respond but then closed it; she could feel her mind panicking a little. Here in the pool she was free; if they stepped out, it was like returning to her old self, the one that didn't mess around with neighbors. She bit her lip and looked into his eyes, and she saw them dim with retreat. _Dammit_. 

Moment lost. 

“Hey,” she said, locking her fingers behind his neck. She knew it was probably a bad idea, she knew that, but she also knew that if she just let this one go that she'd regret it for the rest of her life (or at least every single time she awkwardly passed him in the building). “You're right, the pool is not a good place to fool around. We should go inside.” Like that, the devious light was back in his eyes, accompanied by a cocky smirk. 

“Inside your friend's house?” 

“Yeah, she won't mind. Much.” His delighted laughter rumbled through his body and against hers, his chest rubbing against her cold, wet shirt. 

“Come on,” she said, unwrapping her legs from his waist and gingerly stepping to the side, resisting the urge to check out the tenting in his boxers that she knew was there. “We can dry off inside, and then...” 

“And then perhaps I can find out your last name,” he finished, groaning as he stood. She climbed from the pool and shimmied across the cement as fast as she could without slipping. When she made it to the less hot, shaded area under the porch she began wringing out her shirt before turning and watching him follow. When he finally joined her, she held out her hand, smiling when he grasped it and laced their fingers together. 

“It's Swan. Emma Swan.” 

“Emma Swan,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on hers as he brought their joined hands to his lips. He kissed the back of her hand and brought it to his chest before speaking again. “It's lovely to finally meet you.” 

“Likewise,” she said. She wriggled her fingers out of his grasp and grinned wickedly, bringing her hands to the hem of her shirt and whipping the sopping thing over her head. She felt a new thrill of heat coursing down her back when his eyes darkened, quickly darting down to her now very exposed breasts and then back up to her face. 

“Come on, 3B. Let's get inside.” She turned and slid the glass door open, the blast of cold and the knowledge that he was watching making every pore on her body prickle in response. Before she stepped inside, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her underwear and pulled the dripping fabric down her legs. Without stopping to turn and see if he followed, she stepped inside and started heading toward one of the guest rooms. 

Just after she heard the sliding glass door shut behind her, the sound of a few vibrating text alerts almost made her pause, almost made her use the excuse to nip this thing in the bud, but hell. She was naked and she was horny, and there was a hopefully naked and horny Englishman following right behind her, so she ignored the impulse. _Be Brave, Swan_. 

She carefully picked her way across the smooth tile of the kitchen and down the hallway to the room she always slept in whenever she crashed at Mary Margaret's. Besides being not her friend's bed, she knew there was a stash of condoms in the dresser—courtesy of her friend, who was always prepared for anything. 

Emma paused in the doorway, her hands bracing on either side as she figured out her next move. She was still breathing heavily and when she went to wipe a drop of water from her lip, she smiled, thinking about how good of a kisser Killian was. That was the moment he came up to her, his breath hot on her shoulder as he stood behind her, saying nothing. 

It became one of those moments, where she held her breath in anticipation, not wanting to be the first to lose it and attack him but also wanting to turn around and start touching. She felt touchless brushes against her back, as if he were maybe moving his hand above her skin, or waiting for an invitation to do so, or maybe it was just her wanting him that much. Her breathing picked up and she heard his do so in kind, the two of them simply standing there, being near each other, their bodies warming with proximity in the very chilly and dry air conditioning of the house. 

She closed her eyes, willing herself to be patient and enjoy the moment. She was always so impatient with the guys she slept with, tearing into them in her need to feel good. It wasn't as though she didn't want that with this one, too, but something was telling her deep down inside that he would be worth the wait, that her patience would pay off. That maybe she'd been waiting all this time for this exact reason. So, she kept waiting. 

The air kicked on and she felt a sharp, cold burst from the vent hit her across the chest, making her gasp and making a bloom of goosebumps burst across her body. That was it, that was the moment. She took a purposeful step back and pressed right against him; he gasped in turn and caught her, his palms cool and pressing into her shoulders. She kept her body going until they were fully pressed against each other, his erection hot and thick and just above her ass. 

She opened her mouth to say something—anything--when she ended up gasping again because his mouth was pressing at the juncture of neck and shoulder. He bit down and pulled back, his tongue soothing the spot as he lifted away. 

“Again,” she whispered. He chuckled into her ear, his breath hot and low and causing new bumps to raise along her skin. She felt him move her dripping hair off her shoulder and then nipped at the newly exposed area, his hands squeezing her shoulders briefly before sliding under her braced arms to cup at her breasts. He tested the weight of them as he continued to mouth at her neck and shoulder, his scruff scratching delightfully along her skin and his thumbs beginning a meandering path, sweeping up the sides of her breasts. When he reached her nipples he brushed across them once, twice, three times; she was gasping softly with each twinge, squeezing her thighs together and rocking her ass against him, trying desperately to not lose her grip on the doorway or she would fall. 

Then his fingers joined his thumb and he twisted both nipples at the same time, the sensation so sharp and good that she cried out. He did it again and she jolted against him, sure she was going to lose it. 

“Love,” he whispered into her neck. “Please tell me you have protection.” He ground against her ass and pulled back, rubbing the head of his cock against the small of her back. “I have other things in mind if not, but I have to say,” and here he bit her again, harder this time, “I'd really prefer burying myself inside of you.” 

“God,” she whispered. It was too much, _he_ was too much and not enough all at once. She almost wanted to tell him no, no condoms, because she suddenly knew that if any man knew how to please a woman, it was this one. But then his right hand started snaking downward as his left continued to twist and pull at her nipple, and she knew there was no way she'd be able to not let him fuck her. 

“Nightstand.” Her hips jolted up when he got to the apex of her thighs and cupped her hot flesh. One of his fingers started tapping in time with the movement of his other fingers at her nipple and she could feel her grasp on the doorway slipping. Every time his fingertip hit her flesh down there he slid a little farther in between, and every time she felt her muscles clenching in anticipation of the next touch until finally he didn't tap, he just kept going, his finger curling as he slipped it inside of her. And then she was falling forward, the feel of his still-cool fingers in sharp contrast to how hot she was inside. She let go of the doorway and he caught her with the arm still at her chest, his hand down below still holding on and into her. 

“I've got you, love,” he murmured, kissing her neck sweetly. She dropped her head forward, letting it sway as he kissed her again, tasting her with his tongue flat and broad against her skin. He pulled his hand away and she clamped down with her thighs to keep it there, his chuckle dark on her neck as he continued to press open-mouthed kisses there. Then his hand was back, two fingers sliding up and down, spreading the wetness gathered there. She relaxed her thighs while her insides clenched furiously, wanting him back inside. Her eyes were closed, her chest was heaving, and she was swiftly losing the ability to think. 

He moved, bumping his chest and erection against her as he took a step forward. She went along, letting him lead the way toward the bed, his fingers still stroking her, his other arm still clenched across her chest. When her legs bumped the edge of the bed she fell forward, knowing her ass would be sticking out, inviting him to do as he would. She braced with her arms above her head, her face pressed against the duvet, her breaths hard and heavy and pushing her breasts against the bed. 

She realized he hadn't done anything, wasn't even touching her anymore, so she pushed her ass back, silently begging him to do something, to touch her, and just when she was ready to turn around and demand what the hell was he waiting for, he stepped between her legs, his hand now warm and palming her hip. 

She stopped breathing then, stopped thinking because his cock brushed against where she was throbbing. She could hear his own labored breathing, both of them too keyed up to talk. He started thrusting against her, his cock slipping down, brushing against her clit. She started to moan and writhe, needing him to move, to do _something_ , her hands grasping at the comforter as she fought the impulse to take over. 

Then he pulled away and she was going to protest when she heard the sound of the drawer on the nightstand sliding open. She began to nod, her face still pressed in the stiff fabric of the comforter beneath her, her mouth open, her breathing loud and gasping. 

She waited endlessly, her legs still and waiting as she perched over the edge of the bed, her inside muscles pulsing erratically, a thrum of anticipation beating a loud, insistent pulse from between her thighs and outward. She could hear him busy behind her, cursing softly and fluently until she heard the satisfying snap of a wrapper being opened. Just another moment and then-- 

\--he was back, grabbing both of her hips and squeezing his fingers, his thumbs swiping along the outer curve of her ass. 

“You're sure,” he murmured, pressing his thighs to the backs of hers. She could feel his cock rubbing gently across her wet flesh, back and forth but steady, as if he was holding himself and guiding the movements. 

“Fuckin' A,” she breathed out, laughing breathlessly when he chuckled but then she was gasping because he was sliding in and it was good, _God_ , so good. Thick and filling and full and she raised onto her toes to give him a better angle and he hissed, his fingers digging into her skin. She wouldn't last long, she knew it, it was too good, he was too good, his palms pushing down on her hips as he thrust into her and then releasing when he pulled back, pushing down and going in and in and in and she was already fluttering, too aroused to continue, to consider drawing it out, there'd be time for that later, they'd do it again, no way she wasn't going to do this again and he was making delicious noises that she wanted to taste on her tongue and she would, she would watch his face next time and remember every shade of color in his eyes, she'd do that later but now she was going to come, her legs were buckling and then locking and “there, oh, there,” it was a tickle that turned to a demand and he kept going, fucking her relentlessly until she was...she was... 

Oh, _there_. 

She raised her head with the jolt, her body arching and pressing against him as she cried out and fell, fell back and down and around and around as he moved faster, she in the middle of the fall when his began, a low, quiet grunt exhaled from his mouth as she gasped, not realizing she needed to breathe, not caring. She dropped back down, her arms sore with the effort of trying to hold on, her still-damp hair crisp and cool beneath her face. Drawn-out, tickling licks jolted through her as he slowed and stuttered to a stop until he was just sliding in fully, his grip on her hips loosened, his hips pressing firmly against her and holding it there, his soft gasps of breath the only sound in the room. He pulled back a little before pressing into her once more, making her jump a little with the extra sensation until he pulled back completely. She dropped her body fully, her knees buckling as they were utterly exhausted with the effort of keeping her feet on the floor. He leaned down until his head rested just between her shoulder blades, his hot breath puffing against her skin. 

After a moment he brushed his scruff and lips against her before lifting away and like that, reality came crashing down. 

_I just fucked a near-stranger in Mary Margaret's house._

_My neighbor._

_What the hell is wrong with me._

Yes, she had those thoughts. But they weren't the usual insistent ones at the front of her mind; more like the ones that tried to warn her about the rationality of doing the things she did, like when her body knew it was the right moment to start chasing one of her skips just a second before he took off, or when she knew to duck because David was about to throw a pillow at her face. 

Yeah, she really wasn't questioning it. Maybe she didn't know Killian Jones the way you're supposed to know a person before you have sex with them, but she was curiously undisturbed by that. In fact, it made her want to get to know him even more rather than throw him out the door before the condom even came off. 

She heard him shuffle behind her and when she finally flipped over he'd gone, but she knew, somehow, that he was going for clean-up, that he was on the same page as she was. That he wasn't just leaving. 

She trusted it, trusted him. 

Which is why she said what she did when he returned, looking slightly wary and totally smug, all at the same time. 

“Wanna order a pizza or something?” 

His eyes widened, like he understood the enormity of Emma Swan inviting a guy to stay over after the fact, and maybe he did. Ever since they'd officially met (and really, even before that), he seemed to have this sense of what her boundaries were, so maybe he could read her mind, too. She half-expected him to get all arrogant and make some quippy remark, so when he didn't, she allowed herself to fall for him just a tiny bit. 

He nodded and grinned, and there was nothing smug about him when he did it. Especially when he looked around sheepishly, his eyes landing on the still-wet boxers in a heap on the carpet. 

“Looks like I'll be going commando, as you Yanks say,” he said, making her laugh a little more than she would under normal circumstances, but really. Nothing about the situation was normal for her. Emma didn't do silly post-coital banter. Usually. 

“At least you have something to change into. I'm going to have to steal something from Mary Margaret, and she's about five inches shorter than me.” 

“Ah. Best wear her shortest skirt then,” he said before turning around and heading, presumably, to find his pants. 

As Emma made her way to the bathroom to clean up before borrowing some of Mary Margaret's clothes, she smiled to herself and shook her head a little. Because her thoughts weren't on how to get rid of the hot neighbor wandering naked around her best friend's house and how to avoid him; they were on where he stood on pepperoni versus sausage, and whether he was a Coke or Pepsi kinda guy. And whether he was staying in the states permanently. And if he would team up with her in her fight against Leroy. 

And she found she couldn't wait until she got the answers to her questions. 


End file.
